-October 31 1987-
The Dark Lord’s Castle
“My Lord, please forgive my intrusion.”
Voldemort looked up from his towering stack of paperwork to glare venomously at the intruder. Had Voldemort known that being a Dark Lord and overseer of an entire Magical country would require so much damn paperwork, Voldemort would’ve tried harder to get that teaching position.
Before him stood one of his most faithful, Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort liked the Malfoys for several reasons. Not only were they of a pure blood line (which was necessary in this society) but they were also incredibly wealthy and best of all; entertaining. Voldemort took pride in knowing that the Malfoys were the most fun to be around purely because of how hard it was to rattle them.
So seeing the patriarch of the Malfoy family looking so distressed was enough to set Voldemort on edge.
“What is it, Lucius?” Voldemort demanded, setting down another piece of the infernal paper on the pile.
“My Lord, I beg of you---” that was yet another thing to make Voldemort’s eyebrow raise. Beg? The Malfoys do not beg. “---he is absolutely monstrous.”
Voldemort sighed and his crimson eyes quickly appraised the startled man. His long, bleach-blonde hair was in a state of disarray, and his grey eyes were wide with fear. His robes were scuffed and---Voldemort narrowed his eyes---was that mud on his pants?
Suddenly Voldemort knew exactly what this was about.
“What did you do?” Voldemort asked in an even tone. A part of him held great concern, and if anything had happened to him, Lucius would pay for it dearly. While the other part of him was smiling sadistically at the way his most beloved could frighten his Death Eater so.
Lucius shuddered. “I didn’t mean to!”
“What. Did. You. Do?” Voldemort repeated, his interest growing.
“I said… that I did not want a flower crown.” Lucius said, bowing his head with regret. It took all of Voldemort’s self control not to burst out laughing at the remorseful tone of his follower.
“And…?”
“He… He tried to force me to wear one,” Lucius said, his hand absently coming up to the crown of his head where his hair was in the most distress. Voldemort smirked gleefully at the mental image of Lucius attempting to thwart off his precious as he climbed him to place a crown of flowers on his head. “And when I would not let him, he…”
“What did my dear heart do to make you so nervous, Lucius?” Voldemort asked in amusement.
Lucius sucked in a deep breath, as though he were resigning himself to some unbearable punishment, before he spoke. “He threw… a tantrum.”
Voldemort’s eyebrow rose even higher, if that were possible. A tantrum? That was… unusual. A part of Voldemort wanted to smirk because his dear heart was quite ferocious in that state, and he had managed to terrify Lord Malfoy to the point that he would beg for Voldemort to fix it. Another part of him wanted to be grateful because a tantrum meant that his dearest was secure enough in his environment to pull such a thing, meaning he did not fear abuse or being thrown out for his behavior, which was exactly what Voldemort wanted. But the part that won was the concern.
Little One didn’t do tantrums.
Voldemort stood then, startling the already spooked Lord Malfoy. “Show me to him.” he said.
Apparently this was enough to reduce the proud Pure-Blood to tears. Lucius fought to keep the relieved expression off his face as he nodded. “Oh thank you, My Lord!” he all but wept. Voldemort fought to keep his emotionless mask on his face. What could possibly have caused such a reaction?
Lucius led Voldemort out of his office and down the halls to the outdoor garden. As they walked, Voldemort was greeted with the strangest sight. His followers were cowed, hiding behind furniture and each other as they stared with horror at a figure in the distance. What in Merlin’s name…
Finally Lucius stopped at the threshold of the back garden. He stood frozen, his limbs as stiff as a board. A look of unbridled terror passed over his face. “He is out there, My Lord.” he said, his voice wavering.
“Do you not wish to join me?” Voldemort asked, slightly amused. Lucius’s face paled even more.
“No, My Lord,” he cried. “Please, I beg you. Do not make me step in that garden!”
Well if he wasn’t intrigued before… Voldemort nodded curtly at his prized follower, and pretended not to see the look of relief that flashed over his face for the sake of his dignity, and chose to step out into the garden.
Voldemort had the garden made when he first brought his son to live with him. Little One’s interest with nature was not lost on him, and he desired for Little One to have a place that he could escape to if he so desired. While his bedroom was enchanted to look like a Fairy Garden, sometimes true nature was needed as well.
The second Voldemort set foot in the flower garden, he understood why everyone was so terrified.
His precious child stood in a partially destroyed flower bed, his emerald eyes held nothing but rage and frustration as he let out the most awful scream. Tears poured down his face as he screeched and stomped on the flowers. It was the most unbecoming sight Voldemort had ever witnessed, and one he had not seen from Little One in years.
The usually docile Inferius was absolutely monstrous. He screamed and dug his feet into the ground, yanking all of the flowers and shrubbery out of the soil in his rage. When he was finished beating up the grass, he sobbed. It was clear that something was bothering his most precious, and it was overwhelming the poor child. Lucius must’ve been the straw that broke the camel's back, and Little One finally cracked, hence the worst tantrum the Death Eater’s had ever faced.
When Little One caught sight of Voldemort, he whimpered. Voldemort sighed and walked closer to the weeping Inferius. “Calm yourself, sweet child,” he cooed, kneeling down beside him. “You’ve worked yourself up.”
Little One merely sobbed harder, and his hands made childish grabbing motions. He choked on another sob and let out a frustrated huff. Voldemort sighed and pulled the struggling toddler into a hug. Little One whined and pulled away from him, but Voldemort held him tightly. Little One sobbed louder.
“Enough.” Voldemort said firmly. “You’re going to cry yourself sick. Calm down.”
Little One sniffled and tiredly beat his fists against Voldemort’s chest. He let out another soft cry. Voldemort gently pet his messy hair and Little One slumped into his hold. Voldemort, knowing that Little One had finally tired himself out, stood and began to walk back into the castle.
His followers slowly poked their heads out from their various hiding spots, and Voldemort waved his hand at them dismissively. “Go back to your duties.” he said firmly. He bit back a sneer as they scrambled to get away from the crying toddler in his arms.
Voldemort slowly walked up the stairs that led to his private wing, taking care not to jostle the whimpering child in his arms too much. He had finally settled into his arms, only letting out soft whimpers every few seconds. Voldemort quickly walked to Little One’s room and sat down on the bed swing.
Voldemort sat there for a few minutes, softly rocking his most precious until he was calmed down. When the cries had diminished to subtle sniffing, Voldemort pulled away so that he could see him better. Little One’s eyes were red-rimmed, and fresh tear tracks made his cheeks shine against the lights.
Voldemort gently wiped his child’s cheek clean and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “Now then,” he said softly. “Would you tell me what’s got you so worked up?”
Little One gave a slight shrug and curled in on himself. Voldemort clicked his tongue disapprovingly because he couldn’t have that. He slowly lifted Little One’s head so that he could meet his gaze. “What happened?” he repeated.
Little One mumbled something too soft for Voldemort to hear, and Voldemort suppressed a sigh. What on Earth triggered such a response from his child? He pet Little One’s hair once more, slowly carding his fingers through his silky locks in a calming fashion.
“Come now, precious,” Voldemort said soothingly. “Tell me what has you so upset. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Little One leaned into Voldemort’s caresses and sighed. “Miss you.” he said softly.
Voldemort blinked in surprise. Little One… missed him? Suddenly it all made sense. Voldemort had been incredibly busy all week---a new informant on the Order’s plans had ensured Voldemort stayed wrapped up with paperwork and politics for hours on end. When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping, too exhausted to do anything more than that. Come to think of it, this is the first time Voldemort had seen Little One in nearly a week and a half!
Voldemort sighed and pulled Little One in for a tight hug, maneuvering the Inferius so that he sat in Voldemort’s lap with his head resting against his chest. Voldemort couldn’t believe that he’d been so careless. He knew that Little One still suffered from the scars of his previous home, and he had major abandonment issues. For Voldemort to just up and disappear for a week was not good for him, and it had clearly stressed out the Inferius.
“I’m sorry Little One,” he said softly. “I did not mean to ignore you.”
Little One gave another half shrug and buried his face in Voldemort’s chest, his hands clutching Voldemort’s robes even tighter, as if trying to reassure himself that Voldemort would not disappear. It made Voldemort’s chest squeeze with guilt.
Voldemort wrapped his arms around Little One, squeezing him a little tighter in comfort. “It won’t happen again, dear heart.” he promised. “Go to sleep, I’ll be here.”
And Little One fell asleep, exhausted after his major meltdown. Voldemort held the slumbering toddler in his arms protectively, and slowly drifted off himself. When Voldemort woke, he spent the rest of the day with his cranky toddler who had become that much more clingy. The rest of his followers gave the Inferius a wide berth for the next few days, but when it became obvious that the happy, care-free Inferius they’d grown to love had returned, everything went back to normal.
Voldemort smiled as Little One crawled into his lap and fell asleep. Despite only taking a few days off, paperwork had built up like nobody’s business. Voldemort was content to do his work while his precious slept peacefully in his arms.
And work resumed as normal.